


The Unmasking

by moth2fic



Category: The Masqueraders - Georgette Heyer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-30
Updated: 2006-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A masquerade of feelings within the outer masquerade of gender is privately unmasked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unmasking

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank-you to Elizabeth for the beta.

THE UNMASKING

 

Robin stepped onto French soil in a strange mood. His feelings about the old gentleman and the charade they were all involved in were beginning to get the better of him. Gaston, it seemed, had his trunk. Whose trunk, he was not sure. He hardly knew whether he was Robin Lacey, adventurer, Robin Tremaine (of Barham) or even Kate Merriot.

Dieppe was as usual. A small bustling port, smelling of fish and ringing with the calls of sellers and buyers on the dockside. Further into the town the market noises faded and the true spirit of the place took over. It was Sunday and there were church bells, cooing doves in the plane trees and the swish of carriages bearing their owners to or from mass. The fish, it appeared, had not observed the Sabbath, but the good citizens of Dieppe were doing it for them.

Robin looked to John for help. His father's servant must know where they were to stay. In the end, John had accompanied him across the sea, saying Lord Barham could find a temporary servant anywhere and Robin would have the greater need. They couldn't possibly turn straight round and return. Even if a packet were to sail with the outgoing tide, Robin knew he needed a day or two or three on solid ground. Whoever he was, he didn't have sea-legs.

John had Gaston's whereabouts memorised and led his master's son there without more ado. The French servant was voluble in his greetings. Monsieur Robin (pronounced quite differently and therefore giving rise to yet another persona) was so welcome. Milord Barham must be so proud of his son. Certainement Monsieur Robin would be pleased to enjoy the privileges of the nobility Anglais. And after such a life! He, Gaston, was relieved and enchanté. Et la valise .... it was here, of course. Un moment...and he busied himself behind a curtain in the small room where they had found him, eventually reappearing with Robin's trunk.

So there was no chance of staying there. There was barely room for Gaston, never mind John and Robin. Yet Gaston seemed to think John could lodge with him. Perhaps, Robin thought, they would take turns to sleep in the narrow trundle bed. Pour le jeune Monsieur it was not possible. Gaston was mortified, desolé. But if Monsieur Robin would just wait...

Robin and John sat with a bottle of wine open but barely tasted between them until Gaston returned. There was a small cottage available. The owner was in Paris. They would be only too glad of any money Robin (or John) could send their way. It was just a seaside pied-á-terre, they must understand, but for a few days, it would do. Pourtant they would care to see ...

They cared, they saw, they agreed a price, and Robin found himself in full possession of a tiny house, slightly out of town, overlooking the sea. John would come to cook his meals and 'do' for him. He was, as usual, his own valet, at which Gaston fussed and tutted but did nothing for how could they engage a valet for less than a week? And the world was no longer rocking beneath his feet. Robin or Kate, he was on dry land.

*****

He sat outside on a rustic bench watching the waves. The channel was rough tonight and the white 'horses' galloped and pranced. But the sunset was pink and gold and promised better times tomorrow. Just as the old gentleman's game promised better times ahead. If it was a game. And if it was, if they weren't caught. Robin sighed. Despite his taste for adventure and his sense of mischief, he was fond of soft beds and well-cooked meals. Of smooth fabrics and delicate colours, too, whether for a brocaded jacket and a pair of knee breeches or a morning gown fit for receiving visitors.

Like the large gentleman. The mountain. The epithet hid an affection for the man that Robin had hardly acknowledged even to himself. And now he was, it seemed, to be his brother? Prudence was making a splendid match. He sighed, and hoped she appreciated her good fortune.

'Sighing, child?' The words were quiet as a sigh themselves. Robin turned, startled. The subject of his thoughts had materialised in the little garden and was looking down at him, a slight, indolent smile on his lips.

'Sir Anthony!' He rose and tried to bow but found himself seized and kissed on both cheeks in the French manner. For some reason this caused him to stumble and sit down again, too suddenly for comfort, but Sir Anthony didn't seem to notice, and merely joined him on the bench.

Questions flooded into his mind but died before they reached his lips. If the news were bad, it would be told soon enough. Otherwise, the purpose of Sir Anthony's visit would no doubt be made plain. His eyes must have shown his concern.

'Oh no! There's no trouble, I do assure you! Prudence is safely ensconced with my sister and your father is enjoying himself immensely. Immensely,' he stressed. 'Egad, child! I would not have worried you for the world.'

Robin smiled tentatively. If all was well with his immediate family then he had nothing to fear from the mountain's presence in his garden. He cast his mind inside the house and remembered another bottle of wine, opened after a luncheon and left carelessly in the kitchen. If Sir Anthony wished?

Sir Anthony did. And also wished that Robin would cease to preface his name with his title. They were to be brothers, he reminded him. 'Although,' he began, and then stopped. Robin brought the wine and two glasses and they sipped in an apparently companionable silence until Robin could bear no more.

'Although?' he queried. 'Do you tell me you are having second thoughts about Prudence?' He genuinely hoped this was not the case. He loved his sister and knew such a rejection might break her heart. As to his own heart, better not think where the various pieces were scattered.

'Alack! You think me a sad fellow, Robin! As if I would withdraw from our engagement! No, Prudence will be Lady Fanshawe as soon as may be, but,' and he stopped again.

*****

The pink and gold turned to turquoise and indigo. The white caps on the waves were calmer now, shining in the night. Robin got up and led the way indoors.

'Where do you stay?' he asked. Wherever it was, he and John had not found it. Perhaps the mountain had friends among the French. Friends with a larger room than Gaston.

'I hoped you might offer me lodging.' The voice was quite soft but Robin felt it go through him like a sword.

'There is only the one bedchamber.' He busied himself lighting candles and did not look at his guest.

'Even so.' Softer still.

'Drat! This candle is reluctant to light us!' How to keep his voice steady?

'Robin! Kate! Forget the candle and look at me!' The voice was commanding now. A large, lazy, powerful voice that matched the man. One candle was alight and Robin looked sideways. Sir Anthony was leaning on the chimney breast, immaculate, huge, perfect. Looking at him, Robin, with a degree of intensity that was perhaps due to the candle light. Or perhaps to his own overheated imagination. Slowly, he put down the taper, its little flame extinguished on contact with the candle holder. Slowly, he turned completely so that he was looking, really looking, at the other man.

'Did you think it was all just play acting? Did you think I didn't mean it?'

'I thought...I thought you teased me, perhaps. And I thought of Prudence.'

'As I thought of Miss Grayson. But over and above that, I thought of you.'

'You are to be wed.'

'As are you if the old gentleman has his way. And those marriages can stay in happy compartments that give pleasure to all and keep the world well satisfied.'

'What are you suggesting?'

'You know what I'm suggesting.' And he did. And because it was what he wanted, had wanted for what seemed like forever, it was almost unbearable, certainly beyond belief. And he turned back to the sulky candle, trimming the wick. He thought to gain time. Instead he gained a pair of strong arms, enfolding him, and a gentle kiss on the nape of his neck.

It was useless to pretend. His entire being would give him the lie. So he submitted to force majeure and leaned back into the mountain's embrace. It was a very pleasant place to be. Guilt about his sister fled out to sea. Guilt about Letty followed it. Disbelief was hot on the heels of both, because he was turned around to face a very ardent lover who was suddenly kissing and caressing him with an urgency quite at odds with the Sir Anthony Fanshawe that people thought they knew.

'Little one! I wanted you so much! You, not Kate! Never think that! I wasn't seduced by the silks and satins. I wanted Robin. Sweet Robin.' This was said, not all at once, but interspersed with kisses that made him breathless. He was picked up in massive, strong arms and carried up to the bedchamber under the roof with its sloping ceiling and tiny window. He glanced towards it and saw that there were stars.

*****

The bed was barely large enough but they managed by dint of staying very close to one another. Sir Anthony undressed him very gently then removed his own clothing while looking all the time at his Robin. When they were naked and together and gasping for breath, Robin felt his heart turn over and start beating to an entirely new rhythm. Assured and reassured of love, permanent and golden, he gave up all pretence and simply allowed himself to give and receive.

He had never had a male lover. Had never really wanted another particular man in that way until he saw Sir Anthony enter the inn that fateful night. He had enjoyed looking at men, enjoyed their graceful bodies in fencing classes, dreamed a little, but that was all. No-one had caught his imagination, his heart. Then the mammoth had smitten him with a desire that had tormented and had seemed unlike ever to be assuaged. Till now. Every nerve was on fire. Every touch drove him to new desperation and at the same time gave him his heart's delight. Anthony stroked his member proudly erect then bent to take it in between his lips. Robin whimpered. Anthony licked. Robin groaned. Anthony sucked. Robin, dizzy with pleasure, emptied his seed into his lover's mouth Anthony's fingers explored, excited, penetrated.

Robin found himself pressed back onto the bed, his legs spread wide and raised to rest on Anthony's shoulders. There was a small pot in one of the mountain's hands. Balm or ointment. Something cool and slick that moistened both of them and made possible something he'd only imagined in his deepest fantasies. There was pain at first, as he'd known there would be.He'd heard tales from schoolboys even though his own childhood had never included school. But he welcomed it. It heralded joy. And soon it was hard for either of them to tell where one began and the other ended.

He knew who he was, now. He was Robin, just Robin, and he was Anthony's. And best of all, Anthony was his.

*****

They woke early to the chorus of gulls. John would be arriving soon to prepare breakfast. Robin thought perhaps they should be prudent. Anthony thought there would be a need, a long term need, to have John in their confidence.

'And besides, child, he will understand how we feel. He and Gaston ...' So that was how they solved the lodging problem. But how did Anthony know? He just knew, it seemed, in that all-powerful, knowing way he had.

'Do we need...?'

'To return? Alack, yes. Although it will be pleasant, I think, to have Prudence as my lady, and your Letty will give you joy.'

'But...'

'But nothing, little one. There will be room in our lives for each other. And meanwhile, I think we can risk three more days.'

And so they did. Although for both of them, it was the nights, and not the days, that counted.


End file.
